The High of Deprivation

There’s a familiar circular coolness engraving itself against the back of his neck and he smiles, “Addison.” He acknowledges.

She taps at the trigger, “you know, one of these days, I’m going to blow your brains out.”

He smirks, “You can blow my brains out any day.” He gestures suggestively.

“Stop!” She swings the gun across the back of his head, sending him sprawling on the floor, “You are my charge!” She whispers violently.

“You’ve never been able to stay away.”

“I know.” She says, “I hate myself for it.”

“Why sweetheart? Isn’t this how it works, you push me around a bit, I blow your mind and then you go home to your husband and fuck the shit out of him.”

She growls, “you can’t stay away either.”

“Well.” He shrugs nonchalantly, “You’re hot.”

“You’re a masochist.”

“You’re supposed to kill me no?”

She glares.

He laughs and wipes the blood off his mouth, “This is pathetic.”

“Take off your shirt.” She commands. He obeys, quickly, laughing.

She goes in to kiss him but finds the butt of her own gun pressed against her chest, she sighs, “Are you serious?”

He grins widely, “Very sweetheart. I’m doing you a favor.”

“What do you want me to do?” she asks.

“First, I want you to turn around slowly.”

She does.

“Get into the car.”

She complies, he gets into the driver’s seat and fires the gun, it flares into the night and the two of them drive away. The police sirens that follow are still miles away. “Damn Mark.” She whispers, “Where are you taking me?”

“This isn’t you.” He tells her, post-sex glow emulating from their bodies, and he whispers into her hair, “You aren’t made for domestication…”

“You’re not good enough for me if that’s where this is going.” She snorts.

“Maybe I am.” He whispers and something in his tone catches her. There’s a change, it’s vague and maybe inconsequential, but she recognized it.

“What?” She stammers the word.

“Maybe I can be the one who loves you.” He tells her, eyes tragic, longing.

She winces and leans against his lips, “You wouldn’t know how.”

He kisses her deep, “I’ve learned.”

“Sir?” He’s awakened by the sound, “We’ve found you’re wife’s abductor.”

“Oh good.” He sighs with relief, “Where is he?”

“Well…” the man looks uncomfortable, “We haven’t actually caught him yet… just figured out his name.”

“What is it?”

“Mark Sloan.” The inspector says, “We have pictures.”

Derek goes to tear into them but is stopped by the other man, “Before you look at these, I should warn you… you might not like what you see.”

“Why not?” Derek asks, but the man just turns away and leaves. He braces himself, afraid for his wife, afraid of what he might find inside the manila envelope. In one quick motion, he rips it open.

There, printed in black and white evidence, was his wife, beauty in all of its glory, smiling against the lips of another man. He watches the pictures flip by, entranced in horror as the photographs described the two of them dancing around a fountain, water sprinkling the air above them. Paris, France the photograph read.

The inspector is back with the same stoic expression. “Mr. Sheppard? If I may explain.”

Derek nods numbly, “You’re wife works for the C.I.A. as a bounty hunter… she’s a professional assassin, and has credited America with an accolade of hits.”

Derek’s mouth falls open, “That man… well, he’s an international jewel theft, and supposedly on of her victims. She disappeared last month during one of her supposed ‘missions’ it would have been her fourth try at eliminating him, or capturing him… she did neither. She’s reported a mission failed after each try… we should have been surprised because she does not fail… but… we didn’t catch on.” The man sighed. “I knew her, I knew her well, she’s… she’s a restless person. This isn’t a reflection on you…”

“How long?” he asks, his voice cracking.

“The first try was…” and the man hesitates, “Two years ago.”

When the inspector leaves, Derek’s still staring out the window.

“Name.”

“Marcus. Sloan.”

“Height.”

“Six foot.”

“Weight.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?”

“Sir. Please tell me your weight.”

Sigh. “One-Hundred Ninety, give or take.”

“Occupation.”

Mark scoffs, “Jewel Thief.”

“Is that all?”

“And international smuggler…”

“Thank you.”

“Sir?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I go?”

“Yes. Execution date set for two weeks from today.”

“He’s never killed anyone!”

“Addison. Tell me the truth, did he abduct you, or did you go willingly?”

“He stuck a gun to my stomach.”

“So it was abduction.”

“Sure.”

“Addison! I know you! You could get charged with assistance of a criminal!”

“Why is he getting executed?”

“Do you love him?”

She glares, “Why is he being executed?”

The other man sighs, “Abduction is a crime.”

She clenches her jaw, “Fine. I went willingly.”

“So you do love him.”

“Will he live?”

“No.”

“What!” Addison cries.

“I’m not giving your testament to the court, you’re practically a daughter to me… you’ll spend the next five years in jail and you’ll never work again, that’s not what I want for you.”

She huffs, “They’re going to kill an innocent man.”

“Well he would have gotten a life sentence anyway.”

Addison crept into the jail in the night, acknowledging her official turn as criminal. The guard at the door had been taken out, and the cameras had easily been overwritten and turned out of her path. She reached his cell and with a quick twirl of her stolen keys it swung open. He was in isolation, and thus separated from the rest of the ward, there was no one around to hear them.

He’d been lying slumped in the corner, he’d lost weight and his eyes were stark red and blood-shot. When she pads in his head snaps towards her and he smiles slightly. “Addy.” He chokes out.

“Shhh.” She says, kissing him quickly and then helping him to his feet, “I’m getting you out of here.”

“I thought they would have locked you up.” He mumbles, “I thought I did this to you, I thought they would destroy you…”

“No. no.” she soothes him, “They didn’t. I’m fine, and you’re going to be fine soon.”

He nods slightly, “Yeah. Soon.” He whispers to the night and his eyes drift closed.

“Mark!” She panics and slaps his face, “You have to wake up!”

He grins lazily, “You have to leave Addy, you can’t help me. I love you.”

“I love you!” She sobs against his neck and kisses her way along his lips, “I love you!”

“That’s good.” He mumbles, “Very good.” And he shutter and takes his final breathe.”

They find her the next morning, body entwined against his, and she’s sentenced to five years of prison. She dies quietly two weeks in, slips off in her sleep.